


Rewritten

by contextomy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contextomy/pseuds/contextomy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after Sherlock's fake suicide, John receives a letter from Dr. Laura Stapleton. They have a new technology called Lacuna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rewritten

_Dear Doctor John Watson,_

_I wanted to thank you and your colleague, Sherlock Holmes, for solving the hound case and for dispelling the myths of Baskerville. I understand it had been four years, but I have reason to write today. I write to you today because, since I have learned of your colleague’s ‘mind palace’ and your blog (particularly the bit about deleting the solar system), I decided to do more research with the neurology and neuroscience team._

_I am sorry to hear of your colleague’s passing. He was a good man. But I wanted to let you know about our latest breakthrough that we’ve achieved because of Sherlock’s encounter with our labs._

_We’ve developed Lacuna, a magnetic resonance interference machine that allows people to delete memories. We are only able to delete things (people, events, etc.) that are of particular significance to someone, something that left an indelible memory on someone, at the moment, but we hope to expand out to other capabilities._

_And we have Sherlock Holmes to thank for the inspiration. Everyone here at Baskerville still believe in him._

_Signed,_

_Laura Stapleton_

 

* * *

 

John smiled grimly at the letter. He rarely ever received letters anymore. Even more rarely, hand-delivered letters. He kept the deluge of messages of well wishes and believers in several shoeboxes under his bed. They came in a fast and rapid stream the month after Sherlock’s death, and then it just stopped. People just weren’t interested in a dead detective or his sometime PA any longer.

 

There were better things to think about.

 

The army doctor sat back down in his old fabric armchair, across from a dusty leather armchair. His tea had gotten cold.

 

He flipped the letter over. Attached to the back was a business card to Lacuna.

 

So they commercialized it.

 

He sipped on his tea. Good for them.

* * *

 

Having been summoned by Lestrade, Molly came into the morgue with a report on a serial killer who had taken the lives of seven people to date. Molly was to process the eighth body. When she walked into the cold room, the body was already there. A curious card sat atop the black bag.

 

 

Her hands shook as she read it and looked up at a nearby security camera, her face drawn in worry and consternation. “Mycroft, go to him!” she mouthed.

* * *

 

John thought himself fortunate to be one of the last people to share his brilliant presence, but to bask in the light of the sun and suddenly have it removed - it was cruel. And it was cruel for him to have taken his life and all that it could have been away with him. John would have followed Sherlock anywhere.

 

He opened his laptop and revisited his blog in hopes to write something significant that had happened in his life. And on the eve of the three-year anniversary, John simply stared at his blog, and the blog stared back emptily.

 

_He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him._

 

Always believe in him.

 

Always.

 

'Always' was one of those words that John had come to not quite hate but tolerate. It represented a promise that John had kept to a dead man. A promise where every Sunday, John would dutifully make his way to the cemetery and have lunch by Sherlock's grave. He would have been able to do it forever.

 

He didn’t mind talking to his headstone. It was probably how Sherlock felt when he talked to the skull. John tried talking to the skull, but it wasn’t quite the same.

 

John didn't mind staring into the past. He didn't mind not moving forward.

* * *

 

Lestrade entered the office early in the morning, hoping to get some paperwork done for the sergeant committee. Being demoted meant doing mundane work, but it had to be done. To his surprise, atop his desk was a small card. There was no name to it, and it wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular.

 

He flipped the telegram over. Blank. He read it again and scoffed, stepping out into the hallway to call out to his team.

 

“Oy, Donovan. Did you get this?”

 

Her response was a simple wave of her hand, a similarly sized card captured between her fingers.

 

 

* * *

  

Except for the quiet hum of the massive machine in the adjacent room, there was only the light tapping of a keyboard behind the receptionist's desk. It looked almost like the clinic he used to work in with Sarah, but the people in the waiting room were definitely not the same patients John had. They were emissaries, politicians -- rich people, John concluded.

 

He flipped the unadorned business card over in his hand.  _Lacuna, Inc._  If it actually worked, psychosomatic heartbreaks would be a thing of the past.

 

"John Watson?" The doctor looked friendly enough. Kind eyes. Kind smile. It was the doctors' smile before they gouged someone with a scalpel and high fees.

 

"Yes."

 

"Doctor Turner. Pleasure. Come with me."

 

The room was stark white. Even the machine itself was white. It seemed only fitting. White. Blanc. Blank. If the procedure worked, it would be a blank slate for John, a way to regain his life again. 

 

John set down a box of things he found in his flat that belonged to Sherlock. They were the few things he kept from 221B before Mrs. Hudson had urged him to move out for his own sake. As kind-hearted as their -- his -- housekeeper was, it didn't make it any easier to part with the flat, to part with the countless insomniac nights he spent in Sherlock's bedroom. 

 

"Are you sure this is what you want? While our patients don't typically remember the ones they erase, it is important that you won't regret your decision." Doctor Turner swiveled in his chair as he spoke. It sounded almost like a script he'd repeated as standard procedure.

 

John closed his eyes and exhaled heavily through his nostrils. He nodded once.

 

"I'm going to need a verbal answer for the records." The doctor pointed to the camera behind him.

 

"Y-yes. I'm sure."

 

"Absolutely?" 

 

 

"Always."

 

* * *

 

Lacuna, Inc. It was one of the more controversial technologies that came out of Baskerville.

 

Mycroft flipped the telegram over in his hand, deep in thought. He had not expected John to take such drastic measures, and what registered in his system as a routine medical check-up resulted in a meeting with John's appointment with Lacuna, Inc.

 

Sitting quietly in a leather club chair at The Diogenes Club, he stared between his phone and the telegram he had just received. He let the two items fall into his lap as he brought his hands together and steeped them under his chin.

 

_JOHN WATSON has had SHERLOCK HOLMES erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again._

_Thank you._

_LACUNA, INC._

Mycroft had sent the picture of the telegram off, and his phone buzzed almost immediately after the picture was delivered.

 

_What is Lacuna? SH_

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP. More chapters to come! It is also my first fanfiction, and my first time on AO3. Please bear with me as I try to to understand this system! Many, many thanks!
> 
> Unbeta'd.


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